


Personal Notes (30) For Science

by longhairshortfuse



Series: Carlos's Secret Diary [30]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Science, Strexcorp is Evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhairshortfuse/pseuds/longhairshortfuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos and Cecil talk about what is going on with StrexCorp and what they might be able to do about it.</p>
<p>Some spoilers for "Missing"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Notes (30) For Science

Living with Cecil is wonderful. He and I are very different, but in complementary ways. I keep him grounded, he keeps me from getting bogged down in detail and helps me to see the wider issues. We fit well together. 

I said nothing about redecorating his study. We were far too busy the day we moved in to care about decor, but the next day when Cecil had time to unpack his work boxes in his new study... he called me in and we were too busy all over again on the familiar lumpy sofa that Gio had specifically requested I removed from the apartment that was now his, on the basis that he couldn't sit comfortably on a surface that his boss had fucked his boyfriend on. I wondered out loud how platonic he was with Ell, he has certainly picked up her excellent command of vocabulary, and for just a moment I wondered internally if I would see out the day with a black eye. 

Gio is also worried about Ell's absence but lacked my suspicion until we compared notes. Ell went to meet our sponsor. Ell did not return. Our sponsor is StrexCorp. I still get an email every couple of days but they are not in Ell's style at all: insufficient Anglo-Saxon slang and too few references to whatever she imagines Cecil and I do to each other. 

A genuine email from Ell:  
 _"Look sharp, you long-haired loon, if you ask really nicely I might be able to swing funding for one of those big bastard X-ray fluorescence machines you keep banging on about. Speaking of banging, how is your sickeningly sweet bf? Still at the stage of making it hard for each other to sit down comfortably? Back to the grind, Ell"_

A suspicious email:  
 _"Hi Carlos, Looks like I might be here a while longer. Contract negotiations are going well and we should be able to fund the lab beyond the initial project period if we lose one, maybe two postgrad places. Cut from six to four. There is scope for further funding, quite generous, if you could stand to resume your time manipulation research although you might have to move the lab out of Night Vale to take full advantage of the additional budget. Think about it and get back to me, Ell"_

At the moment, the only things stopping me from going to Desert Bluffs to see if she is okay are (1) if she is not in trouble she would kill me for daring to think she might need to be rescued and (2) I don't want to leave Cecil alone with his paranoia right now, however justified it is. I cross referenced emails with Gio. He has the same impression, his emails have little endearments that Ell would hate. The emails are not plausible. I realised during my chat with Gio that I have misjudged him, perhaps jealous that he is getting between Ell and me. But I have Cecil, Ell and I don't want each other like that, Gio is an intelligent, arrogant asshole but a decent human and I have no right to obstruct his wish to be part of Ell's life. 

Cecil liked the new paint job, asked about the wave design and only glazed over and drifted off during my explanation of AM and FM a couple of times. After, he said, "you are my carrier wave" and I held him tight until he asked me to let go a little so he could modulate his frequency correctly. Then he made a dirty joke about amplitudes and frequencies and kicked me out so that he could write in peace.

Later, we went for a stroll in the whispering forest. The trees were quite flattering but claimed to be on our side and promised not to assimilate us. They also promised to delay anyone who might be trying to listen in or who they sensed intended us harm. They promised us silence and cover. We had a chat, no, a discussion about the organisation that owns both my lab and Cecil's radio station. We agreed on one thing: StrexCorp is bad for Night Vale. We disagreed on what to do about it. I argued that we should do nothing, hold off until there was concrete evidence of their wrongdoing, then enlist help from outside the community. Cecil thinks it is all up to us, sort it out within Night Vale, people will eventually realise what Strex is doing and will not stand for it. Again I disagreed. History has repeatedly taught us that the gradual erosion of rights will be accepted as long as people are too indolent or too ignorant to realise what is happening, and by then it may be too late.

So we strolled through the forest and discussed how to try to warn Night Vale about StrexCorp. We agreed that Cecil should not make any direct reference to Strex on his show but needed a parable of some kind. When we returned home, Cecil went straight to his study and wrote. He was clearly nervous about what he was going to say: he woke me at 3am to rehearse. He has never let me hear his show in advance before. I suggested some changes, a few of which he wrote in to his script, a few he rejected, and we drifted off under a sheaf of papers sometime around 4.30am. 

We woke late and in darkness. The sun was not to be seen, something I would definitely investigate later. Cecil's show was written and Gio was on early shift at the lab and had already texted to say he was checking out the lack of sunlight so we had a luxuriously easy morning. For science, we tested the tensile breaking strength of silk and determined that it was greater than the force from Cecil's limbs. He declared this particular experiment to be neat. Several times. But eventually we both had to go to work. I could find no explanation for the lack of sunlight. Our meteorology equipment indicated that the Sun was up and the sky was clear, yet darkness fogged us all.

The show started. Cecil announced that StrexCorp is looking for Tamika Flynn. Anyone with any knowledge of her whereabouts should pick up a phone and talk and will not be hard to find. I resolved not to use the landline again. I have four or five burners that Cecil gave me when the yellow helicopters first arrived and although I scoffed at his paranoia, I kept them. Now they might be useful.

Cecil talked about his new supervisor, Daniel. Cecil said that Daniel started shaking, sparking and humming before his mouth fell open to reveal motor oil or tar. I can't be sure with Cecil whether Daniel actually is a robot or just behaves like one. I added "research defence against automatons and AI" to my list for the day. 

The community calendar gave some light relief. Cecil recently described to me a recurring dream where he gets up, showers, dresses, has breakfast, goes to work... then wakes up and has to go through the morning all over again. He is not a morning person so this dream is particularly distressing. I help out where I can, suggesting things we can do "for science of course" that usually lift his mood. On Wednesday I have to meet with the principal of the local community college. I am dreading this since I can't stand the irritating, closed-minded, wilfully dense river rock. Even hearing or saying her name affects my temper. So when Cecil said that Wednesday will take forever, I knew he was talking to me. Cecil also used the community calendar for some petty revenge on the college principal for sacking a genuine Night Valean scientist months ago, claiming that their open day was a trap and comparing the principal with a giant worm. 

His report about Saturday I took as a hint that as a good boyfriend I ought to provide a glass of wine, a bath with incense and allow Cecil space to read. I have warned Cecil that I don't really notice hints, I need things spelled out sometimes, especially when I am engrossed in lab work. We have had a few petty arguments when I have not understood that I am being asked to do something. The most recent was when Cecil said, "If you are not too busy would you tidy up?" and I was busy that day so did not tidy up. I asked him to phrase things in a way that I can't possibly misinterpret. He pointed out correctly that some things I do pick up hints on, things I want to do. For science. Still, he now tells me directly if I'm shirking domestic duties.

Cecil reported that Tamika is not missing at all, she was seen standing on a pedestal of a statue in town. Tamika said that she has never been missing. Yellow helicopters approached and landed but the crowd blocked the StrexCorp agents from reaching her before she disappeared in plain sight. It was reported as an accidental hindrance of the StrexCorp security team, of course it was nothing of the sort. Aleck and Susan were there and texted me to say that some of the townsfolk had tackled the Strex agents to the ground and pinned them down. StrexCorp issued several dozen more missing child reports. I wondered why they seem so afraid of one little girl, just what does she have planned. A second text from Aleck this evening said that Susan, who had valiantly sat on one of the Strex guards, had gone missing. She returned a few hours later apparently unharmed but muttering something about a smiling god. 

And then the traffic report that we had discussed so carefully under the branches of the whispering forest. Cecil asked several times, "Do you catch my meaning?" He was fantastic. So eloquent, so clear without saying anything directly. I am beginning to understand the depth of his love for our town, his influence over his listeners. I hoped that he would come home safely after that rousing soliloquy.

Cecil lightened the mood again with his Children's Fun Fact Science Corner. A few nights ago we stayed in and watched Bambi instead of my usual choice of horror or creature feature. I thought that Cecil needed something lighter to watch and what could be better than a cute animated film anthropomorphising woodland creatures? The Night Vale version is slightly different to the version I watched years ago. There is an extra scene at the end, sponsored by the Federation of Night Vale Realtors. It was quite upsetting. I prefer to believe that nature is dispassionately ambivalent to my welfare, rather than actively trying to kill me. 

The next part of Cecil's show I listened to whilst sitting perfectly still, staring at the radio, clutching a cushion and forgetting to breathe or blink. Cecil reported on a helicopter crash by the old car lot just before Daniel shut down Cecil's broadcast. But Cecil is resourceful. He hides behind a disguise so often, appears to be ingenuous and frivolous, but he is not like that at all. He is the bravest person I know and has so many unexpected talents. He surprises me almost daily with how clever he is. Cecil has a different kind of intelligence to mine. I learn and remember facts, practise techniques, measure, compute and analyse, go from A to B to C in logical order, never go further than my data allows me to predict. I don't cope with unexpected circumstances. Cecil is an intellectual magpie. He remembers everything he is told, makes connections that appear to defy logic until he explains how he just knows that A leads to Z, uses that knowledge in a practical way, asks difficult questions in an almost childlike way, hangs on tenaciously until he is satisfied with the answers. I am a plodder, he is brilliant.

So I was not very surprised to hear the rest of Cecil's broadcast with wind and traffic noise in the background. Earl Harlan, the scoutmaster who disappeared, coached him through his subversive radio host badge. Cecil wrapped up his show. I hope others recognised his speech for the stern warning it was. 

 

He texted me as he left the station. Daniel was unaware that Cecil had continued to broadcast. Cecil said that he had been given a warning and he would be home soon. I checked we had wine, poured two glasses, filled the bathtub with warm bubbly water, lit a candle and some incense and put my smuggled-in copy of _Lightspeed WDSF_ with the wine glasses on a table beside the bath. I went downstairs when I heard the door open and close. There stood Cecil, uncharacteristically dishevelled and with a bruise developing on one side of his face and dried blood from a cut. So that is what Daniel calls a warning. I held him close until he stopped trembling. He showed me his left hand where his knuckles were purpling up and said, "Daniel didn't feel a thing." I kissed the bruise and Cecil flinched. I told him to go undress in the bathroom and fetched some ice in a towel for his hand. I found him in the bath, eyes closed, sipping wine. I wrapped his left hand with the ice and cleaned up his cut. It was superficial, looked worse than it was. Still, my anger grew until I was silently seething. I wanted to go to the station and hurt Daniel. Cecil may have read my mind, or interpreted my face at least. 

"There's no point," he said.  
"Why not?"  
"He's a machine. He can't feel pain, you can. If you damage or deactivate him there will be a replacement. Pick your fights carefully. If he deactivates you..."

I knew Cecil was right and it pissed me off. I left him in the bath, promised not to do anything stupid, and went for a run. Fast and short. It took about half an hour to work the edge off my anger and engage enough endorphins to change my mood from hate to a gentle high. Cecil was still in the bath, had drunk my glass of wine after his and was engrossed in science fiction. He asked if it was possible to genetically modify humans. He was equally horrified and fascinated by my answer of "yes, it happens, but please can I explain tomorrow?" 

I took off my running kit (shorts and shoes, it was still hot out despite the lack of sunlight today) and gestured at Cecil to make room for me. He got out as I got in, wrapped up in a towel and left the room. He returned a minute later carrying a fresh towel, two glasses of wine and wearing a lab coat. I accepted a glass, knowing it would go straight to my slightly dehydrated brain, lifted it and said, "for science?" 

"For science." He grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> Two of my favourite things right now:
> 
> (1) **I could preach and teach and shout and explain, but no lesson is as powerful as the lesson learned on one's own.** I want an official poster of this.  
>  (2) Lightspeed Magazine's special edition "Women Destroy Science Fiction". Buy it, it's fucking awesome. Go on twitter and look for the WDSF hashtag.


End file.
